All of the Stars
by hopelesslyhalfhearted
Summary: “Then I think interior design,” Lucas looked at him, unsure as to whether he was being serious or joking about his stereotype. “Don’t look at me like that, honey. I’m gay, it’s what we do,”
1. Hello

_**My first attempt at OTH. **_

_**I know what coupling I'm going to do and it's the only Lucas couple that ever made sense; that could ever be considered 'end game' as some call it. **_

_**I'm hoping it's going to be fun for you to read and fun for me to write. I'm also really hoping that I'm actually going to finish it, a feat that has never been achieved by me. (:**_

_**Well, enjoy.**_


	2. The Truth Hurts

**The Truth Hurts **

"MR SCOTT! MR SCOTT!"

Flash.

"MR SCOTT!"

Flash. Flash.

"LUCAS! OVER HERE!"

Flash. Flash. Flash.

"LUCAS!"

Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash.

The car wasn't that far away. He could get in, drive off. Be free. Escape. Nobody could possible realise how badly he wanted to escape. Escape everything. The pressure, the pictures; the people. Being perfect, being punctual. Why did he have to be like this? It was ridiculous.

"ARE THE RUMOURS TRUE?!"

Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash.

They just wouldn't stop. Why couldn't they stop? Why couldn't they leave him alone? He wanted to be alone. At least he thought he did. He couldn't figure out what he wanted. It seemed to change all the time. People would tell him things. Tell him what he needed, what he should do, what he had to do. But he never knew what he _wanted_, what he _wanted_ to do. It had got to the point where it was like somebody else held the remote control to his life, his picture perfect, brilliant as blu-ray life.

But there was a problem. This brilliant blu-ray player, that played an Oscar winning film, was connected to a bargain store TV. His life was meant to be perfect. It had everything. The money. The looks. The pretty girls. The great job. But it was wrong. It was being lived by him. And no matter how great a quality everything was, how brilliant the film was, he could never do it justice, never be completely happy. Just like the TV would never be able to show the true greatness of the film.

"WILL YOU BE CONTINUING WITH YOUR PROJECT?"

He didn't look at them. He used to get blinded by the flashes, stand there like a deer in the beam of a car's headlights. But now he just pushed past, opened the door, stooped, climbed in and shut the door as the driver began to drive away. He was used to it, expert in the art of avoiding paparazzi.

What else was he expert in? Not much. Acting? Maybe, though he couldn't help feeling that wasn't the case...3 Razzie nominations don't do good things for your confidence. But he kept getting parts, so he couldn't be that bad, could he? Sometimes he wondered if he only had a job because of his looks.

Expert at relationships? That was a joke. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept with someone whose name he remembered in the morning, unless you counted _her_, which you really couldn't, because she was convenience. For both of them. Good publicity, something to talk about in interviews other than his latest disastrous attempt at serious acting. Sure, maybe there had been something there, something other than fame and beauty that attracted them to each other in the first place, but it certainly wasn't love and if you've been in a relationship for 3 years you'd expect there to be some love. Although, he doubted he could really say they'd been together for 3 years, with time spent filming and promoting he probably only spent about 9 months seeing her on a regular basis. So, they broke up. He thought sometimes he missed having someone to go home to on the odd occasion that he was in town but he couldn't really, her schedule had always been just as busy as his.

The only stable human relationships with women that he had been able to make last were with his mother and best friend; both brilliant women, incredibly beautiful and insanely kind and loving.

Haley would be the perfect choice for a girlfriend. Grounded, sensible, helpful, loyal, understanding, modest yet confident; but she had always just been the best friend-the girl who he could fart in front of, the girl who he could play fight with as a child, the girl who helped him through heartbreak. Sometimes he wondered if you could find the one, you know the woman who is meant to complete you, the one who you spend forever with-the _only _one-but not feel romantic feelings towards her. Could it be possible to not want to sleep with the love of your life? Because, from what he'd read or heard, Haley filled all the criteria that meant she was the one. He felt sort of lost when she wasn't around, he was pretty sure he'd need her by his side forever and even more sure that he would love her forever. Which meant she sounded just like _the one _that he'd had described to him his whole life, yes?

In some ways this helped him; knowing that no matter what he'd have Haley. But in others...it depressed him, destroyed him even. Not having someone to have kids with? Nobody to watch falling asleep at night? Nobody to nag him about not doing the ironing or forgetting to wash-up? Nobody to sit in silence with? Nobody to love, to properly love?

He didn't like the idea of that.

But what if it was the truth?

After all, the truth hurts.

Right?


	3. One Way Glass

**One Way Glass**

It was 1 am. And he was awake; the man behind him snored. So much for glitz and glamour, he sighed. He figured he was probably somewhere above Kansas, which led him to wonder about the lives people were living below him. He peered out the window, hoping to see if they were above countryside or a city, he achieved nothing; only black darkness met his eyes.

He wasn't sure why he did this. Imagining things, thinking up little stories and characters, wondering what others lives were like. Maybe it was because he was so dissatisfied with his own life. Maybe it was just because he had always been a writer, an artist with words, programmed to let his imagination run wild. He had never been sure; he just used it as a way to occupy himself.

Sometimes he'd sit in his hotel room, staring out the window, looking down at the people below. It was why he always insisted on having a room on one of the middle floors, this had led to him receiving odd looks from concierges across the world after declining the penthouse suite. He'd sit find the comfiest chair in the room, pull it up to the window, place the strong cup of coffee- that he had gotten someone to bring him from Starbucks- on the window ledge, and then peer outwards. He'd find an interesting subject, sometimes it would be someone who was rushing; sometimes it would be someone stood still; sometimes it would be a couple, sometimes they'd be walking hand in hand, sometimes they'd be arguing; occasionally he'd pick one of the paparazzi that was sure the be waiting outside the hotel entrance.

He'd then think up a back story, why they were in that place; what they were doing; who or what they were waiting for or rushing to. Sometimes he'd even give them names, depending on how caught up in the story his mind got. He enjoyed doing it; often it was the highlight of his day, which said something about his view of his life.

"This is your captain speaking," A voice crackled around the cabin, bouncing off the white 'walls' and wood veneer separators between the seats. It woke him from a sleep he hadn't even realised he'd fallen into. You're not in Kansas anymore, he laughed to himself. He wondered if anyone ever repeated lines that one of his characters had said. "The seatbelt signs have now been switched on, may all passengers please return to their seats. We will be landing in 20 minutes." He checked his watch. They were on time. "Thank you for flying with us today, we hope you had a pleasurable flight,"

It didn't take long to get from the plane to the waiting limousine; he didn't have to go through normal customs and his bags were collected by a member of his personnel team, possibly the same person who would later fetch his espresso. By some miracle there were no paparazzi waiting for him, as they drove off he made a mental note to call and thank his PA.

That was the wrong turning. He was sure of it. He might not have been home in 8 months, but he was more than certain of which way he had to go from the airport, after all he'd made the journey a thousand times. He sat up, looking out the window trying to work out where they were. He pushed down on a button to his left and the division between him and the driver slid down.

"Ed, we were meant to turn left back there," He tried not to sound rude or to insult Ed in anyway. He knew he was great as his job, but he was beginning to wonder if age was catching up with the old chauffeur. If he remembered rightly, he'd be 68 in August.

"I was told to take you to see your new person," The elder man kept his eyes on the road whilst he spoke, he always did, in fact Lucas couldn't actually remember making eye contact with the man.

"My new person?"

"A new member of the team,"

"I didn't know I was getting a..."

"She's part of PR or something," He nodded, resigning himself to the situation, although not happy. Sometimes it would be nice to be told something. It was his life after all. He sat in silence, staring out the window. Who had invented one way glass? They must have been one very closed off guy, not wanting anyone to see him, but wanting to see everyone else. Maybe he was a bit like the glass he invented. More than willing to see everyone else's world, but reluctant to allow anyone into his.

"Do you want the divider up, sir?" He shook himself out of his thoughts and looked at the back of the man's had. He still had a full head of hair; it was completely white and slightly wavy. He had a sudden urge to talk to someone, to talk about something other than himself or his love life or his latest flick. He wanted a normal person conversation.

"How's the family?" It was the first question that sprung to mind.

"I became a granddad when you were away,"

"Really? Congratulations,"

"Freya Lauren Taylor,"

"That's a great name,"

"Yes, it is,"

"How is Lauren?" Edward's wife, often the subject of their conversations; he always seemed to have a funny story about her antics. From what Lucas could gather she seemed like quite a ditzy woman, always being spontaneous and falling completely in love with everything and everyone. It seemed she had a new favourite hobby every time he saw Ed.

"She's decided she wants to buy an RV when I retire, you know, sell the house, travel around, stay with the kids sometimes. I kinda hoped she'd forget about the whole thing within a few weeks, but no, 7 months later and it's still all she ever talks about,"

"RV sounds like fun,"

"Nah. I've spent my life driving around places; I just want to put my feet up,"

"Hmmm,"

"How about you?"

"Mom's building some extension on the cafe, so I guess I should go see her,"

"And Haley?" Haley. His reply got stuck in his throat, desperately trying to find its way up, but blocked by some unidentifiable emotion. He'd been having the same problem ever since he had been told. He wasn't sure why. At one point he had contemplated the possibility of him having feelings for her, of himself being jealous; though now he was pretty sure it had more to do with the thought of 'losing' his best friend. Maybe he was scared she'd have less time for him. He was a bit like a child who was about to have a younger sibling. At the end of thinking like this, Lucas often described himself with one word. Pathetic.

"She got engaged," He tried to sound happy. A part of him was; you know the old, if you're happy I'm happy, and she was undoubtedly happy. And then there was the other part of him; the 'pathetic' part.

"That's great," He could tell without even looking at the man that Ed was smiling, it showed in his voice. "When was that?"

"He asked her on her birthday, which was...January 6th,"

"Quite a while ago then; are they thinking of a date?"

"October sometime, I think," He was sure they had set an actual date, but he hadn't spoken to anyone in so long that everything seemed to have passed him by. He let his Mom and Haley join his PA on the list of people he needed to call.


	4. This New in the Old

**This New in the Old**

He was used to business meetings; the long table, the men in suits trying to convince him in which direction he should go, the little water cooler in the corner, but most familiar was the room; it would always be the same. White walls, trying to make it look more spacious; a potted plant somewhere; large glass windows looking out onto whichever city he happened to be in; the glass wall looking out onto the corridor that provided a useful way for him to distract himself, people's imaginary lives to create inside his mind.

He was used to that. That was the usual.

When Ed stopped next to a large, brick warehouse, that looked unused since its completion date of 1940, which could be read above the large doors; Lucas couldn't understand what was going on. The new member of staff had to be pretty important to warrant him going out of his way to meet them, usually it would just be a quick handshake at a set or studio.

There was someone the meet him, opening the car door before he even got a chance to; it was Mark. He was Lucas's wardrobe, his personal fashion chooser, his go to guy. He was there before every party, every show, every interview...he went everywhere Lucas went, making sure that the paparazzi would never get a bad picture of him. It was all part of the 'brand', the look. Lucas knew full well it wasn't his skills that got him the parts; it was his reputation, his celebrity status. This was status due partly to his position at the top of all the best dressed lists and he only got there because of Mark.

"Hello darling," He greeted enthusiastically. He'd taken an earlier flight than Lucas, making sure that he would be ready whenever he was needed.

"Hey," He'd gotten used to the eccentricity of the man in front of him, but he still had a little trouble in feeling comfortable as Mark pecked him on both cheeks.

"How was your flight?"

"Normal, now, why are we here?" Lucas didn't want to mess around. He was tired, thirsty and incredibly homesick. It killed him to be so close, but to still have to wait longer to get home.

"James and I...are adopting!"

"Congratulations!" He smiled happily for the man whom he had been closest to for the past 4 years; in some ways he was his best friend, after Haley of course.

"And I'm leaving,"

"You're what?"

"I want to raise my daughter," A smile came to man's face at the thought of being a father. "You know, go to ballet class, watch her put on shows in the living room, be there on her birthdays and Christmas's,"

"Basically everything this job would stop you doing?"

"Don't get me wrong, I love this job, it's been great," Mark smiled and began leading him inside. "You've been fabulous...and I can't say I won't miss the business class flights around the world, VIP treatment, meeting all sorts of people...but I think..."

"It's really great, I wouldn't have expected any less from you," He smiled reassuringly at his employee. "And, just give me a call and I'm sure we'll be able to arrange some VIP treatment,"

"Thank you," He let Mark give him a quick hug, something he rarely allowed, but this was an exception. He suddenly realised where he was.

"You brought me back to where we met? How appropriate," He grinned.

"That you should now meet your new person here..."

"My new person?"

"You think I'd leave without finding you the perfect replacement? Sheesh," Mark began walking down the corridor, beckoning with his finger for Lucas to follow him through the door at the end.

"Shit," The door opened to reveal a huge room, full of clothing racks. The ceiling was high and the brick walls had been painted over with white, the floor was concrete, causing their footsteps to echo loudly through the space.

"You don't have to wear them all," Mark laughed. "I thought it would be a good effect...worked pretty nicely,"

"Ok..."

"Now, she should be over here," Lucas followed Mark again, this time keeping by his side.

"So, are you completely giving up working?"

"For a bit," Mark's pace didn't slow, his pointed shoes clapping against the cold flooring. "Then I think interior design," Lucas looked at him, unsure as to whether he was being serious or joking about his stereotype. "Don't look at me like that, honey. I'm gay, it's what we do," Lucas laughed quietly, but it turned into a loud sound, reverberating around the walls. "Well, this is hopeless," Mark sighed, stopping abruptly. "BROOKE!" He put his hands to his mouth and called the name repeatedly.

Lucas tried to imagine what the woman would be like. He begun by thinking of all the Brooke's that he knew or had heard of. He could only think of Brooke Shields. He wondered if she would be his age or older, he then remembered quite how old he was and realised she could be younger – he was 30 after all. Maybe she was a protégée of one of Mark's friends, as he was pretty sure Mark had no time to have protégées.

He hoped she was pretty; he imagined her with blonde hair, maybe in ringlets. With a bit of luck, she'd be quite small as well – he wasn't the tallest of guys. She'd be thin, but not thin enough to make her limbs look like twigs; she'd have a good appetite too. Then he could take her out to proper restaurants, the kind he liked, not the ones that charged $50 for an anchovy and a salad leaf.

He then realised he was thinking about her as if she were a potential date, or even more, possibly a girlfriend. She wasn't. She would work for him, just like Mark had. Maybe they'd be friends, maybe they wouldn't. But they certainly wouldn't date.

Then he thought about what quality he wanted most in her.

Loyalty?

Trust?

Humour?

The ability to not get star struck?

He settled on the latter.


End file.
